It’s been 100 days since the pizza of doom.
100 days of pain that hurt like a motherf***** and then some.
100 days of ‘why?’, and ‘what if?’, and ‘what’s wrong with me?’, and ‘why?’, and ‘what if?’, and ‘what’s wrong with me?’, and ‘why?’, and ‘what if?’, and ‘what’s wrong with me?’.
100 days in which I’ve learned who my friends are. And just how fantastic my friends are.
100 days of exhaustion. 100 nights of not sleeping.
100 days of hearing, “I was never completely in love with you,” in my head.
100 days of Taylor Swift on repeat.
I’d like to say 100 days since I saw him. But there was that horrific morning I looked out off the bus window and watched him walking along the street. In a stupid-looking jacket.
100 days of doctors and psychics and therapists and vodka.
100 days of my favourite memories turning into my worst regrets.
100 days since I ate pizza.
100 days since I felt happy without also feeling sad.
100 days since I was me.
They’ve been the hardest days I’ve ever faced. But waking up to Florida sunshine isn’t a bad was to start the next 100.
Pizza of Doom 
I especially like the last part. The next 100 days will be so much better, and whether or not you believe it, you’ve gotten a lot stronger within the last 100 days. There are things to look forward to, and before you know it, Christmas will be over and we will be beginning a whole new year.
Florida sunshine can cure anything, I hear.
Yes! The next 100 days will be so much better!!
I’m glad he had a stupid-looking jacket on. Sorry this cruel world had to put him in your vicinity that morning!